


There's a devil on my chest

by FanFicReader01



Category: Poets of the Fall
Genre: Death, Demons, Murder, Nightmares, Twisted Reality, killers, olli is a psychopath in this story, sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 17:24:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11810724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanFicReader01/pseuds/FanFicReader01
Summary: Buried above the ground by Giles Corey inspired me to write this together with the weird idea of Olli being an actual psychopath





	There's a devil on my chest

Lately I’ve been sleeping awfully. Often I wake up in the middle of the night.

 _If_ I sleep, I only have nightmares.

I’m swimming around in an unfathomable blackness.

In the darkness people are crying, screaming, begging to spare them when someone ruthlessly takes away their lives.

The person responsible for the misery remains in the shadows but their wickedly bright smirk is always visible, always present. It sticks to them like a mask.

_There's a devil on my back_

_There's a devil on my legs_

_There's a devil on my chest_

_There's a devil on my neck_

 

Sometimes I wake up, my face buried in my pillow. A heavy presence weighs on my back like it’s trying to crush me. Something leans over me and whispers one word: killer. The voice sounds so soft, so soothing, but behind that sugar coated tone lays a venomous lisp.

The voice repeats the word now like it’s some kind of mantra.

**Killer. Killer. Killer. Killer.**

Then I feel razor-sharp claws scratch over my back, tearing up my flesh.

It reminds me of the way the first victim got killed with an army knife. A torturous slow pace.

That poor singer.

  ** _KILLER!_**

Once again, I wake up from a tumultuous nightmare. I scratch my back but feel nothing. Or does my back feels just a bit more rugged?

 

There are times I wake up, unable to move my legs. Two strong, invisible hands keep me pinned onto the bed. If I try to wriggle free, the grasp around my ankles becomes tighter. I’m sure I hear my bones crack.

When I look down, shimmering eyes, like small moons, are piercing itself into my soul. The eyes belong to a tiger. The eyes belong to a dragon. The eyes belong to a koi fish. The human eyes belong to a musician. Those eyes are judging me. Why are they judging me?

For the sins I committed? For the thing I did in the past?

  **Go hang yourself _._**

Before I know it, hands tug at my legs until the mysterious stranger drags me out of my bed. I want to scream but I don’t produce any sounds. Soon I’m hanging upside down and after a while I lose my consciousness.

 

Most of the time I wake up with the feeling as if someone or something is sitting on my chest.

A shadowy appearance keeps me from moving.

 ‘Who are you?’, I hiss.

The thing on me only chuckles and bares its teeth.

  **You know who I am, Tukiainen. Don’t pretend to be stupid.**

The sentence comes out with a snarl. My surname gets pronounced like it’s a curse.

 ‘I don’t know anything’, I retort. Then my mouth gets covered with something. I wouldn’t consider it to be a hand, not even a claw. It’s like a thick shadow is stuffing my mouth.

  **You’ll find the answer in your heart**.

I can’t do anything about what happens next. I feel like the dark entity on me is pressing a stick against my chest. The devil is persistent as it doesn’t stop pushing. I gasp and clench my fists as I try to withstand the agonizing pain.

The being pushes all air out of me when I finally feel the stick piercing through my chest. It’s a sickening sound. I cough, bleed and wake up in sweat.

 

The last few nights I wake up with a strangled feeling. My throat feels sore and when my fingers trace over my skin, it feels scarred and swollen.

In my half sleep like states I sense another presence that has itself wrapped around my neck like a snake. When I try to get rid of it, my hands are slippery somehow. After I realize it’s not the object around my neck is what causes the slip but my _own_ hands, I smell blood. Heck, I can even taste it.

 Although my breathing becomes more difficult every minute or should I say every _second_ , I’m still alive.

 That’s when the whispering starts.

**Why won’t you just die already?**

 I must’ve turned purple by now but I am still very aware of my surroundings.

I’m laying in my bed and I can’t escape the suffocating death that awaits me. Wild eyes filled with traitorous blue fire are the only things that bring light to this room.

 While the monster keeps increasing its pressure on my weakened body, I feel something brush against my cheek. Something soft. It must be a piece of cloth. Something like a scarf.

 As I’m trying to guess whom it previously belonged to, the monster in my neck starts to feel and look more human.

I can distinguish ten individual fingers wrapped around my neck now. They belong to a bassist I once knew.

 I try to remember his name.

And just as the familiar name starts to form on my lips I hear my neck snap.

 

_I've been wailing like a child_

_at the bottom of a well_

 

One night I have a new nightmare. I’m trapped in a deep well. Black sludge surrounds me and sticks onto my clothing. Above me I see a circle of light, the sky: my escape.

I try to climb out of the well but the walls start to bleed bile as well and I slip down.

All my attempts to escape die together with my hope.

Defeated I fall down. I cross my legs and just wait for death to take me. The mud is now filling my lap.

 

Soon the black water will reach my shoulders. Soon I’ll drown. But then there are voices.

They sound creepy and malformed. The voices, I recognize them. The voices, however, are mere shadows and broken fragments of what they originally used to be.

  **We can help you. We can save you. But that comes with a price.**

‘What is it?’, I ask desperately. I’ve had enough of all these near-death and actual death experiences.

 **Your sanity**.

I cackle out loud for I am already insane enough. So without hesitating I reach out for the shadows that have now covered my only source of light.

Only their glowing, vengeful eyes serve as eight light bulbs. Once I’ve accepted their help and taken their “hands” I get swallowed by their shadows.

They tug at my arms, pull on my legs, dig their nails into my chest and claw at my back. Are they going to devour me like beasts?

It’s almost like they torn my body to pieces but I survive.

At least, my whole body survives. Yet it feels like a hollow shell to me now.

 

_I've been pacing like a man in a prison cell_

 

**My hands so restless. They need to do something. Take something. Take a life perhaps.**

**My fingers, so eager. They want to grasp something. A knife perhaps.**

**My hunger is unsatisfied. It needs something to calm down. A body might still it.**

I long for something. Human contact. I visit a former friend of mine.

‘How did you find me? I thought we broke all contact’, the bald man hisses as I appear on his doorstep one day. There’s fear in his voice.

 I smile.

The smile is too wide for my face. A wider grin and my face might crack and the demons would seep through the cracks of my skin.

Anyway, it’s too late for him _and_ for me.

 ‘You’re sick.’

**I know, Markus. I know. Now it’s time to reconcile with your old friends. You’ll never be alone anymore. You’ll always be with me.**

 

_I get buried above the ground_

 


End file.
